I’d come back from an offsite meeting and was frantically typing away at my desk when Mr Asshole makes some wisecrack about stripping the boards in the shop.
“No, Fazielah, not stripping like that!”
Seriously, all that was missing from this sleazy throwaway line was this:
Firstly, as mentioned I wasn’t even looking at him or being a part of his conversation with Anthea, my work BFF and secondly:
I kept my resting bitch face in place and ignored him while he asked Anthea if he was seriously not even going to get a smile out of me.
No, Jackass, inappropriate commentary will not be rewarded with smiles.
Anthea left and as Doos 1 walked up the staircase, Jet came running down it, dazzling me with a gorgeous smile and “Hey!”
Naturally, because Jet’s smiles made me go all weak at the knees, I smiled shyly (ok, read that as awkward AF) back at him:
Mr Jackass, seeing my reaction to Jet, angrily turns around and goes:
“What the hell was that, Fazielah?! Why does he get a smile from you and I don’t?!”
I didn’t have the time to explain the simplicity of the fact that Jet being single plus me being single = us being free to smile with each other whenever the actual f*** we please and also it had F*** ALL to do with Doos 1 since he is a married man, who has no right to get mad at me.
Me: “I am not going to dignify that with a response”
Asshole Supreme marched off behind Jet to ask Anthea why he was getting the cold shoulder from me but Jet wasn’t and I laughed out loud.
Well, in December 2018, Mr Asshole was at it again…
“Fazielah”, he said as he tapped my shoulder and got way too far up in my personal space for my liking, “I said, your naughty Santa’s Elf costume is only a quarter complete with that hat. Where’s the short, sexy mini skirt and hot red high heels?”
Now, Kids, please take a minute to appreciate the fact that I, in no way at all, was being overtly sexual in my demeanour or dress style at this point – not that it should matter,because however a woman dresses or acts,she is not asking to be sexually harrassed,ever.
I quite literally was wearing workman’s jeans, a standard work issue t-shirt, hiker boots and the afore-mentioned hat and unlike a nurse or fireman’s costume, my mountain clothing wasn’t a f*** sexy.
His comment made me see red.
Me, too f***ing outraged and surprised that once again this motherf***ing ass of a married man who clearly did not realise we were living in the age of the #MeToo movement, would be this f***ing oblivious and chauvinistic: “Uhm, well, that kind of attire wouldn’t be appropriate for the mountain.”
Prize Jerk Nr 1 laughed and walked away, leaving me feeling like I had just let myself and the entire female population of the world and generations to come down.
Why the f*** were men still getting away with this kind of bullshit?
I understand that decades of the naughty Santa’s elf imagery has saturated mainstream media and given rise to countless fantasies and role play scenarios but for the love of the gods, most f***ing people keep that shit to themselves, their partners and their bedrooms.
Married men, sure as shit, shouldn’t be saying kak like that to single women, or any woman for that matter, at all and utterly unprovoked!
It would take me a while to work up the courage to confront this world-class f***er about his inappropriate banter but I sure as f*** would.
Here’s what I did want to say to him and all men like him, though:
“Listen, you arrogant d*** … just because I was trying to be a good sport and get into the spirit of Christmas with a hat doesn’t give you the right to ignore all professional and personal boundaries and spew lecherous shit at me whenever you see fit!
I reserve the right to wear what I want, when I want to and to not have you comment on it. I f***ing love Christmas, I love Santa and by the gods, I wish I could be an elf but I do not dress up for you or your f***ing base pleasure. Take your dirty mind and go play dress up with your wife. Leave me the f*** alone!”
Kids, on a cold Spring Saturday evening in Cape Town in 2017, I found myself waiting in gale force winds for yet another no-show online date.
Joe (31) , a lawyer from Tinder, had aggressively pursued me online the week before and, after moving to Whatsapp, asked me out on a date.
Safe for work photo-exchanging occurred quickly:
Him: “Wow! You’re really attractive!”
Me: rolls my eyes but blushes because: “Awwww”
During the course of our conversations, he revealed that not only was his name Yusuf (already a red flag for me because as you guys know, my type was most definitely more the blue-eyed, agnostic, tall and handsome kind); he’d unknowingly had an affair with a married woman (another red flag for me since infidelity is a major trigger point) and he was looking for friendship fun (his definition of going on dates and kissing… right, brother man, that’s swell but I date with a capital D).
I know, I know… why the f*** did I agree to go on a date with someone who was obviously so wrong from the get-go?
Well, because after Brazil and Argentina, I’d rediscovered my sensuality and wanted to test it out on the male species. Also, I hadn’t been on a date since the catfishing episode. A girl has to get back on the dating horse sometime and Joe , though flawed, seemed like a good practice buddy.
After confirming the day before with messages in which he genuinely seemed excited for our date, I spent the afternoon taking in the Cape Town Buskers Festival at the V&A Waterfront before meandering down to the Green Point Lighthouse.
Our date was supposed to be a walk along the Promenade before getting ice-cream.
I arrived 10 minutes early and texted Joe to let him know I was waiting just beneath the lighthouse.
10 minutes after our agreed time, I called and left a voicemail…
And still the wind blew with a mighty force. I began making alternative plans, thinking we could move to Caffe Neo across the road and still admire the sunset while getting to know each other.
20 minutes and another text….
30 minutes later and I realised that this f***ing coward wasn’t going to show at all. I’d been stood up AGAIN!
Look, we all get nervous about meeting new people but what grated my tits was that he didn’t have the f***ing decency to call or text and say he wasn’t coming.
You know things were bad when my Uber driver had the grace to let me know he was running late to collect me but my goddamned date did not.
Women were screwed because 21st century men had no f***ing manners! It was unacceptable!
After sharing my shame at being stood-up with your Spirit Mom, Uncle T and aunts Yoli and Lutfia, I went home and cried.
I cried because dating was hard, Kids. Putting myself out there, time after time, only to be catfished, rejected, stood-up, felt-up inappropriately, time after f***ing time by cowards was demoralizing and for what?
So that I didn’t have to listen to family and smug marrieds ask me why I was still single? To have to nod politely at their god-awful comments on my life, attractiveness ,personality and being too damn fussy?
Kids, today’s abject lesson in why people should mind their own gods-be-damned business comes in the form of a public service announcement I wrote in September 2017.
Have a gander at this:
Dear Smug Marrieds and Otherwise Attached People (including my f***tard of an Uber driver the other night),
This evening I had to listen to one of your ring-wearing,boring AF breathen tell me that, and I quote, “You’re 31 and still not married? Being married is then so nice! What’s wrong with you?”
The answer, in short, is NOTHING!
Why the f*** do you assume that because I do not have a ring on my finger and I am not attached to a man/woman, that there is something wrong with me?
Newflash, you idiots, singledom is not a f***ing disease!
Just because you cannot live without someone to check in with and share your every goddamn move all day everyday, someone to cook,clean and care for and vice versa, someone to share a bank account with, someone to moan to your friends and mother about when they inevitably do not live up to your expectations, does not mean that I have to do the same.
Please, for the love of the gods, leave me be. I am a successful, independent, beautiful and happy young woman with a searing passion for love, life, travel, magic, family, friends, Alexander Skarsgard and Game of Thrones.
The next time you feel the impulse to bless me with your unsolicited comments about my singleton status in person or online ( I swear to the gods if I get one more “I’m so glad that I no longer have to deal with online dating woes” from a newly coupled blogger, I will burn their sites down, Wight Viserion-style!), don’t!
And don’t, I am begging you with tears in my big, beautiful, brown eyes, say shit to me like “When you are in a relationship, you’ll understand” when I wonder out loud why the f*** you gave up all of your individuality for a partner who doesn’t appreciate you.
If that is what passes for love and committment these days, you sir/madam, can keep that shit to yourself.
I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully:
I am not:
Too full of myself ( I am f***ing beautiful, intelligent and amazing. I deserve the best!)
Inferior to you ( treat me with the same respect I do you)
Too old to wait (some people only find their equals later in life)
Too difficult (I know what I want and who I am. If a man can’t deal with that, that is his f***ing problem!)
A man hater ( trust me, if you had to see my browser history or my past loves, you’d know I love men)
Child-adverse ( children are drawn to me like magnets and my ova are screaming out to be fertilised)
Too independent ( utter this shit to me and I will bitch slap you!)
Yes, I am a Destiny’s Child poster girl and I am f***ing proud of it!
I’m not sorry my singledom makes you squirm because you’re secretly jealous of my freedom.
Kids, by 2016, I had had it with everyone from my grandmother to the guy at my local Spar poking their noses into my solo status and forcing their unsolicited opinions onto me about why it was that I was still single.
Here are 5 things I wish those people (smug marrieds, otherwise attached and even fellow singles too) would stop saying to singletons:
You’re too picky:
I’m going to let Madea take care of this one for me:
Let us be clear on one thing: I am NOT picky, I am selective – about who I spend time with and who I choose to be with. I am bloody amazing and I need my future partner to be of an equal standing to build a future with.
I will not settle for mediocre, boring AF men who have no ambition and interests, cannot support themselves or nurture and realise a family, just to make you feel better about me being single!
You’re just looking in all of the wrong places:
Oh, so that’s what I’ve been doing wrong all of this time?! Well, would you mind pointing me in the right direction there, Mr or Ms Know-It-All?
Because I am pretty sure I have looked f***ing EVERYWHERE – bars, bookstores, house parties, events, music concerts, meet-ups, blind dates, group hangouts, Tinder, OkCupid, Datingbuzz, speed dates, on international visits etc.
Every goddamn dating advice site or book tells singles to go to events and places that interest us and we’re bound to meet potential mates with similar interests.
Obviously I am the only comic book- reading, cosplaying, horror movie fanatic, musical-adoring, concert-going, pancake-addict, chocolate-devouring bookworm in the entire world or my soul mate lives on another planet.
Stop hating men so much:
Dear uneducated assholes …if you spent more than just five minutes of your sorry excuse of a life scrutinizing my singledom and how that reflects badly on you, you would see that I not only love men – I lust, crave, adore and want them in my life.
My undying, incurable, overwhelming desire to re-meet, mate with and marry this guy:
My frequent Beefcakes ‘visits, Magic Mike nights out and general flirting with everything that moves.
I may not always know when a guy is hitting on me but I sure as hell know how to put the moves on one when I feel like it. Like Christian Grey, my tastes in the opposite sex are very singular:
And for the love of the Seven, stop telling me that I might be a lesbian. I will admit that I tend to fall in love with a person’s heart and soul rather than their gender, but this blog isn’t called How I Met Your Father for nothing.
You’re still young – there is plenty of time to find The One:
I know it’s irrational but I feel as though I don’t have the time or the luxury of waiting for Mr Wonderful to show up – my eggs are expiring at an exponential rate.
Then again, Janet Jackson is having a baby at 50 so …ok, I’ll let this one slide.
Just stop looking and he will turn up:
Let me explain this in terms you’ll understand: you know that one handbag/car/house/clothing item/piece of jewellery etc you simply cannot live without and that you HAVE to find?
Yeah, that’s how we singles feel about our potential significant other.
Telling me to stop looking, wanting, searching for and dreaming about him, whoever he may be, is bloody torture. The more you tell me to quit looking, the more I am going to pretend to do just that but still secretly sign onto useless dating sites ,wonder if that cute guy at the café was just being nice or was really into me or imagine that my best male friend has been in love with me for forever.
Just stop giving me false hope that someday my Prince Charming is going to show up when I least expect it.